


Infidelity

by hdctbpal



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdctbpal/pseuds/hdctbpal
Summary: A hellish situation strains Shepard's loyalty to Liara beyond the breaking point.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between chapters [9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/658656/chapters/1227876) and [10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/658656/chapters/1241859) of [NakedOwlMan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedOwlMan/pseuds/NakedOwlMan)'s story [A Slave...or a Pet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/658656?view_full_work=true), and contains spoilers for that story. I checked with him before writing it, though it was a few years ago and I haven't been able to reach him more recently.

Shepard awoke from a long and vivid and very sexual dream. She could feel her heart pounding and her blood rushing. Her body was slick with sweat and her mouth was dry.

She was lying on her side on the cold metal floor of her cell, facing the bulkhead. Her thighs were pressed tightly together. Even without reaching down, she could feel the dampness between them.

She had been having such dreams more and more often in the past week, but she had never had one like this.

She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, hoping the dream would resume, but she was wide awake, her heart thumping, not rapidly, but hard enough that she could feel its pulsing in her throat.

Almost of itself, her hand slipped between her thighs and began gently rubbing her clit through her clitoral hood. She did this for a few minutes, but she didn't seem to be getting any closer. To hell with it, she thought. She rolled onto her back, wincing at the cold of the metal deck on her bare backside, and opened her thighs.

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She looked around to see if anyone else was awake.

Miranda was lying on her side as Shepard had been, her dark hair tumbling across her face. She was snoring softly, as she often did; in other circumstances, Shepard would have been amused to learn that the perfect woman snored.

She looked at Liara. Liara was sitting slumped against the bulkhead in the far corner, both her body and face turned away from Shepard. It was harder to see the outline of her blue skin against the dark bulkhead, but at last Shepard saw her breathing was also slow and even.

Fine, then, Shepard thought. Her left hand continued stroking her clit as the index and middle fingers of her right hand gently parted her damp slit and then disappeared inside. She was so wet, she was sure someone would hear her fingers pumping in and out of herself, but no one did.

After several more minutes, she gave up, frustrated. This wasn't working. It just wasn't the same. She needed -

Her eyes went to the doorway of their cell. The door wasn't closed; there was no need to close it when the prisoners had no way to escape anyway. Outside, the passageway was darkened to simulate night.

Slowly, Shepard sat up, then rose to her feet. One of her joints cracked and she winced and froze, but there was no change in the sounds of breathing.

She was afraid of being caught, not only by her cellmates but especially by her captors. She kept telling herself: It's okay. You were given permission to do this. She just hoped she wouldn't have to explain. She really hoped she wouldn't have to explain to Bowers. He frightened her more than any of them; more than Delaana, more than the Broker himself.

Walking as lightly as she could, her knees bent, the outstretched fingers of her left hand gliding along the nearby bulkhead, Shepard crept out into the passageway. 

*

The Shadow Broker's ship was not built for comfort, but at the moment it had plenty of room, since Shepard and her squad had wiped out the former crew. Each member of Delaana's team had his pick of places to hole up. Delaana, of course, had the best quarters, save for the suite occupied by the Broker himself.

Solvitis had chosen his cabin with an eye to privacy and a quick exit if needed - a habit that had served him well before. It was on the same deck as the prisoners' cell, but in a quiet, empty passageway.

Best of all, it had a ventilation duct whose opening, hidden behind some long-forgotten empty storage crates, was large enough to admit him. One night, he dragged the crates aside, pried the duct cover loose, and crawled into the duct. He didn't want to give himself away with a light, but he had a pair of low-light goggles. The duct was filthy; it probably had never been cleaned. That reassured him that no one knew about it. It branched off to three other cabins, which were empty, and eventually led down to the engineering deck. He emerged back in his cabin caked with dust and dirt, but satisfied that he had an escape route.

He trusted the Broker as much as he trusted anyone, which wasn't much. He'd taken care of a few nasty jobs for the Broker back on the Citadel, which was supposedly how he had landed this relatively easy posting. Of course, the Broker might just be keeping him close at hand until a convenient moment arose to get rid of him. Those jobs Solvitis had done for the Broker were a two-edged sword - the Broker didn't like anyone knowing too much about his activities. 

Solvitis had been thinking of disappearing into the Citadel's vast underworld when he heard from Wayne Bowers, whom he knew from his C-Sec days. Though they had once been on opposite sides of the law, they shared certain...tastes when it came to women. And, Bowers promised him, this posting would let them indulge those tastes to the full.

His curiosity overcame his caution, and so rather than cut ties with the Broker and vanish, Solvitis had reported to the shuttle that brought him to this half-empty ship, en route to an unknown destination. 

Aside from Bowers, Solvitis didn't spend much off-duty time with the rest of the team. He was seen as something of an intruder, since he had been handpicked by the Broker over Delaana's objections. Delaana made no secret of her distaste for him, and though the men hated and feared her, they also regarded Solvitis askance.

First, he was an ex-cop. Second, he was a rapist and killer. They were mercenaries, yes, but they thought of themselves as soldiers. Sure, they preferred to shoot their targets in the back, but those targets could, at least in theory, shoot back. To them, Solvitis was just an abuser of women.

But the moral gap between Solvitis and the others seemed to narrow each time one of them forced Shepard or Lawson to her hands and knees and roughly stuffed his cock inside her. Not that any of them wasted any time worrying over it.

For his part, Solvitis saw the others as blunt tools, like the men he had worked with in C-Sec. They had never been undercover, never lived with the constant fear of discovery mixed with the bracing freedom of being someone he wasn't. 

More than that, they would never feel the things he felt. The rush that came with spotting his next victim, the instant of knowing something no one else knew: that he would take her, would have her, would fuck her, again and again. The thrill of the hunt, of watching his prey from hiding, learning her routine. Then zero hour, the elation of navigating the unavoidable risks and unforeseeable snags, followed by the artistic satisfaction of bringing off a well-planned abduction. That exquisite moment when his victim realized she was utterly in his power, her world hanging on his smallest whim. The slow savoring of her emotions, her terror and hope and courage and despair. And, finally, the sheer joy of walking away, scot-free, knowing he would do it again and again.

If anything, he felt sorry for the others.

He was sitting with his chair tilted back and his feet on his desk, sipping from a bottle of turian whisky and reminiscing about one of those jobs. It involved one of the Broker's operatives who had turned informant for C-Sec - so they had learned from a mole - and Solvitis was instructed to make an example of her. He had not had a woman in months, and the urges were quite intense. And, best of all, the woman was an asari. He had been...creative.

For weeks afterward, the Citadel was abuzz with outrage. Solvitis's former boss, Bailey, was lucky to hold on to his job. The Broker learned from his network that C-Sec was finding it difficult to recruit new informants.

Solvitis smiled at the memories. Now, if only the boss would give him a crack at that blue bitch they had in the cell...

There was a tapping at his door, so soft he almost didn't hear it. Instantly and silently he lowered his chair to the deck and set the bottle on his desk, his hand reaching for the Carnifex holstered at his waist as he twisted to face the door. How had he not heard the approaching footsteps in the passageway? 

He aimed the pistol and touched the remote door control. The door slid open -

It was the blue bitch's girlfriend, the redhead human. She saw Solvitis with his pistol leveled at her and her green eyes opened wide. She took a step back and showed him her empty hands.

He holstered the pistol. "Sorry, Shepard. Just being careful. Come in."

She did. The door closed behind her and the lock flashed red.

As always, she was nude; the Broker's prisoners were not allowed clothes, unless you counted the explosive collar around her neck. He hadn't heard her approach because she was barefoot.

He gave her a smile of encouragement. She didn't look much like the Heroine of the Blitz, the first human Spectre, and the Savior of the Citadel at the moment. She did look like a frightened and weary but strong and very attractive human. She didn't try to cover her nudity. She probably no longer noticed it. In fact her unselfconsciousness made her look better to him.

Solvitis wasn't particularly interested in her - nothing against her, he just preferred asari. Especially when they were pleading and crying. Still, he wasn't complaining. It had been so long since a woman had been with him willingly...

She said, "Is it safe to talk?" Her voice was low and strained, and he knew enough about human expressions to see in hers that something was badly wrong. This was promising.

"Sure," he said. "This cabin is isolated and I keep it swept for bugs. Just keep your voice down and no one can hear us."

Her lower lip trembled and her voice was thin and shaky. "I'm having a bad moment," she said. He could see the effort she was making to keep control, to get the words out before her throat closed up. She took a deep breath. "I know we don't want to risk blowing your cover, but you said - " she swallowed - "if I needed to talk..."

With an effort, he kept his elation out of his face. It was time to set the hook. He nodded, with just a hint of reluctance. "You took a big risk."

She had started to loosen her grip on her emotions; now he could see her trying to stuff them back into the bottle. She looked down. "I'll go back," she said, her voice barely audible.

"No." His voice was firm. She looked up, hope coming back into her face. "I meant, you took a big risk, so it must be important. You'll stay here 'till morning. Then I'll take you back. If anyone sees us, I'll say I wanted some - " he looked apologetic - "private entertainment. Delaana won't like it, but the boss will back me up."

She slumped. "Thank you," she said.

He said, "I'd have made the same offer to your friend, but - "

"She's fine." Shepard's voice was unexpectedly harsh. "She has Delaana. I..."

Solvitis stood. "You have me," he said, slowly and with emphasis.

She stepped forward and slipped her arms around him and rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. His hands came up and rested on the small of her back and between her shoulders. Her breasts were small but he could feel them pressing into his chest. In some places she was warm and soft, but in other places, like her tummy and thighs, he could feel thick hard muscle. This intrigued him. The blue bitch had a curvy body that Solvitis dreamed of violating, but Shepard's lithe athleticism held its own appeal. 

Shepard let go and took a half step back and then saw something to his left. "You have a shower?" she said, her eyes widening. It was a cramped stall in one corner of the tiny bathroom, but Shepard looked at it with obvious yearning. "Could I - " she gestured to it.

"Sure," he said, and smiled; she had taken a step toward it before the word was out of his mouth.

He would have liked to join her, or at least to watch, but she hadn't asked him to, and she had to be the one to call the tune. He turned back to his desk and resumed sipping whisky and thought about his good fortune. He had instructions from the Broker to drive a wedge between the prisoners, and it seemed he had. And, by all signs, there were personal rewards in the offing as well.

Solvitis thought of himself as someone who loved and admired and appreciated women. Their bodies were full of delights, of course, but what he really enjoyed was exploring their thoughts and emotions, and learning how to manipulate them.

For instance, he thought, while Delaana's thugs treated this woman as a piece of meat, look what he had gotten by taking a different tack. First she had practically begged him to fuck her in the mess hall that afternoon, and within hours, here she was, wanting more. Needing more. 

He grinned inwardly. Bowers would be pissed. He knew Bowers had a bit of a thing for the redhead also, but he just didn't have Solvitis's patience or imagination.

Steam drifted from the bathroom; the small cabin became warm and humid, reminding him of his homeworld. 

Over the sound of the water, he heard something. He realized she was singing. He had heard of this human habit, but had never seen it. He didn't recognize the song, but then he knew little of human music. Fascinated, he picked up a data pad and ran a search on the words.

After only a few minutes, she turned the water off. The human military must not encourage long showers either, he thought.

He held the datapad so that he could see the shower stall reflected in it. The glass was steamy and opaque, so he couldn't see her, but likewise she couldn't see him. His towel hung over the top of the shower stall. It disappeared as she pulled it down. It was stiff and coarse - turians disliked soft fabrics - but she toweled herself dry without complaint. 

The shower door opened. "Ta da," she said.

He took that to mean he could turn and look, so he did. She looked much better. She had one hand over her sex and the other arm crossed over her small breasts, which she hadn't bothered to do before. She saw him notice this and gave him a slight smile. Before, her hair had been dull and matted; now it seemed a more fiery shade of red, and it spiked in various directions. In fact it put him in mind of a turian fringe, only more colorful. She had an equally fiery triangle of hair at the joining of her thighs, the top of it visible above her hand.

"Spirits," he said, sounding appropriately impressed. "That did you some good."

"I can't stand feeling dirty," she said. "And..."

He nodded. "It makes you feel cleaner inside too." He'd learned that during his time with C-Sec.

"Yeah." Her voice was quiet. "Do you have some clothes I could borrow? It seems silly to stand on my modesty after all this, but..." She gave him a wistful smile that was pathetic and appealing at the same time.

He stood and went to his closet and took out one of his shirts. "If someone knocks, you'll have to take it off," he said. She nodded and reached for it, but he said, "Raise your arms." After a brief hesitation, she did, making her breasts bob slightly. He threaded her hands into the arms of the shirt and then pulled it down over her.

The shirt was dark blue, and the contrast made her hair seem brighter. She shuddered with pleasure at the feel of cloth covering her body for the first time in weeks. Turians had long torsos, so the shirt hung to the tops of her thighs, barely concealing her sex. She had round hips and squared shoulders that did very nice things to its shape. 

"I suppose I must look exotic with clothes on," she said. She hugged herself, though that probably had the opposite effect to what she intended, straining the shirt against her pert breasts and highlighting her small hard nipples.

"You look exotic, period," he said. Normally he would not have taken such obvious bait, but what she needed was kindness, not fencing.

"Thank you," she said. They were still standing close. He said, "And you smell good." The scent of turian soap was more masculine than feminine by human standards, but somehow it suited her.

Her eyes widened. "Shit. I didn't think of that." Then her face clouded. "Let's just say, I doubt she'll notice." There was a bitterness in her voice he had not heard there before.

Solvitis could have pulled on this offered string and unraveled the whole knot right there, but he wanted to let her play the scene out at her own pace. He said, "I'd offer you my chair, but the bed is softer." The bed was a shelf that unfolded from the bulkhead and was suspended by two chains. It had a thin mattress, a rough blanket, and a small, heavy pillow.

She sat on the bed, facing him, keeping her legs pressed together and her knees pointed slightly to one side. She had long legs, but her feet still dangled just above the floor. She saw the bottle of whisky sitting on his desk behind him. He followed her look and smiled. "Actually, I have wine. If you'd rather."

"Really?" Her eyebrows rose. They were the same color as her hair. They were another thing that made her different from an asari, he thought, though asari sometimes had markings or tattoos with the same shape. He wondered what they could possibly be for. He found them curiously charming and expressive. Maybe that was what they were for.

He opened a crate, then another. "I know I had some. Those bastards better not have - ah. Here." He pulled the bottle out, uncorked it, and handed it to her. "No glasses, but - "

She drank from the bottle, tilting her head back, closing her eyes, showing him her long slim neck. A trickle of wine escaped from the corner of her mouth and trickled down her chin. It startled him; it looked like asari blood. He watched her throat ripple as she swallowed.

Her mouth released the bottle with a tiny pop. She shuddered and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "God," she said, her voice rough.

He laughed. "Maybe the glass wouldn't have helped."

"Nothing could help this stuff." But she took another swig, then offered him the bottle.

He wondered if he would taste the imprint of her lips on the bottle. To his disappointment, he didn't. He took a swallow, grimaced, and handed it back. "It's supposed to be tailored to both human and turian palates. Explains why it fails on both counts. But at least it's expensive."

She held the bottle in both hands, looking at the label. "It has good memories." Her voice was soft.

His slate-blue eyes were on hers. "Yes?" he said, also softly.

She looked up. "It was a date. With another turian."

"Ah. I didn't know," he lied. The Broker had told him of her affair with Vakarian, whom Solvitis knew of but had somehow never met. "To be honest..." he glanced away.

A tiny smile tugged at one side of her mouth. "What?"

He looked into her green eyes. They seemed very wide and vulnerable, without a turian's protruding bony orbits to protect them. There was a light spray of freckles across her cheekbones and nose, like the ones along the tops of her breasts, but smaller. How he had not noticed them before? "I got this bottle in case you stopped by," he said.

Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She set the bottle aside and leaned forward and reached out and put her hand on his. "So you've been thinking about me," she said.

He nodded, as if not trusting himself to speak.

"It's mutual," she said. Then, as if to take it back, she withdrew her hand and sat upright again. She drew her legs up and hugged them and rested her feet on the edge of the bed and wriggled her toes. The small motion caught his eye and she noticed his look. "I ache all over," she said, "but especially there." One eyebrow went up. "Would you mind to...?"

He was amused at how assertive she was with him, now that she thought he was on her side. But it suited her. He held out a hand she she scooted back on the bed and straightened her long legs and put one foot in his hand and the other in his lap.

It would have hurt a turian to walk barefoot on a flat metal deck. The decks of their ships were coated in hard foam, to give their talons something to sink into. But Shepard needed no such thing, he saw. Like so much of her body, her foot was bony and almost sharp in some places, but soft and padded in others.

Careful not to scratch her, he pressed into one of the soft places and felt tension; he pressed harder and her whole body moved slightly in response. She shuddered and let out a sigh that had the edge of a moan in it.

"Okay?" he said.

"Perfect," she said. "Tell me some stories, will you? About when you worked in C-Sec."

A cop, even a desk cop, collected a lot of yarns. For him the only trouble was choosing. Tonight, he stuck to the lighter ones. He wanted to make her smile. And he did. She took an occasional sip from the wine bottle as she listened.

"It's not as glamorous as being a Spectre," he said at last.

"Helping people isn't always glamorous, but it's the best part of my job," she said. Her face clouded again. Maybe she was thinking that helping a friend had gotten her into this mess.

"They couldn't get through this without you," he said. He was reluctant to bring up her imprisonment, but she had come here to talk about something, and he wanted her to get it out.

"I know," she said. "I just..." She looked down.

"Tell me."

"I wouldn't mind a little more appreciation, sometimes," she said. There was anger in her voice, though he could see it wasn't aimed at him. "I'm not proud of saying that, but it's how I feel."

"Don't say what sounds right," he said. "Tell me what you're feeling."

She could almost feel the force of his gaze on her. Right now, she thought, I am the only person in his world. It was the way Liara used to look at her.

"This is just between us," she said. "You won't tell her." They both knew who she meant.

He nodded.

"You promise?" She knew that was a foolish thing to say, but she couldn't help it.

"You keep my secret," he said, "I'll keep yours."

She nodded. "She told me what Delaana said. About you."

Solvitis was a good actor. After all, he had been acting much of his life, just to pass as a normal person. His hands kept rubbing her foot without a pause. His eyes, his breathing, and his voice were all dead steady as he said, "Consider the source."

"Yes," she said, and he knew she was recalling what Delaana had done to Miranda. "But more to the point," she said, looking at him, "I'd like to think I'm a better judge of people than that." 

If she had known the truth, she would have run from the room screaming. Anyway, he wasn't interested in her in "that" way, as he thought of it. That last job for the Broker was enough to keep his urges slaked for a while. He was content to go along with the Broker's plans. For now. 

The blue bitch was too nosy for her own good; that was how she had landed herself and Shepard in this mess. She was the one to worry about, the one who would ask questions and look for holes in his story. But Shepard would believe him because she had to; the alternative was too awful.

Usually, he felt only contempt for the people who believed his lies. But he found himself strangely touched, not only by her innocence about other people, but about herself. She liked to think of herself as a hard case, but...

"You're always ready to see the good side of people," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes I'm wrong. Like about Vasir."

"Don't let that change you," he said.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Good advice. I know, because I said the same thing to a friend of mine recently."

"A turian friend?"

"Yeah," she said.

"I'll admit, I'm jealous."

She gave a tiny smile and then nodded at her feet. "That feels really good, by the way."

He could have said something smooth and gotten her into bed then, he knew. She had made it clear she was ready, though that might just be the drug. But he had already enjoyed her body. He wanted her affection and trust, and she needed to give it to him. It would make everything so much more satisfying in the end.

And he loved to listen to her, the more so because she was spilling her heart. She had a sweet warm voice he could listen to for hours. And, he knew, she needed to say out loud what was troubling her - obviously it was something between her and the blue bitch - to justify to herself what she was about to do.

So he just listened.

Shepard toyed with the wine bottle. Then she looked up at him. "You think I'm pretty," she said.

He nodded.

"Even after..." She swallowed. Both hands gripped the bottle now. Her voice was very quiet. "...all this?"

He stopped rubbing and leaned forward and gave her that intense look again, the one that put her in mind of Garrus behind his sniper rifle. It was obvious what she wanted to hear. So he surprised her. He said, "No."

Her green eyes widened and her nostrils flared slightly.

"You are beautiful," he said. "And now I know you're loving and giving and strong too."

"I have to be, for them." She said it without thinking.

"Yes," he said. "That's the side of you people don't see. It's not as flashy as being the Savior of the Citadel and all that. But it's more important. And it's always there, no matter what."

She nodded. Slowly, she let out a long breath. "I have to trust you," she said at last.

He nodded, very slightly.

Her eyes came up to meet his. They were wet. "You see, sometimes I need some TLC too," she said. Her voice was quivering again. She took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. "And I feel like I haven't had much lately." Her voice was firmer now. He was still rubbing her foot and he could feel the muscles tightening.

"You're angry," he said.

"You're fucking right I'm angry," she said. A warm tear brimmed over in one green eye and trickled down her flushed face, unnoticed. She pulled her foot out of his hands and stood and started pacing the small cabin.

"Where does she get off judging me?" she said. "I get raped by the Broker. Miranda gets gang-raped and then mind-raped. I get raped by a fucking varren. Meanwhile she's with Delaana, having a fucking - " she spat the next word - "poetry seminar!"

She had quite forgotten about keeping her voice down. Solvitis was again glad he'd chosen an isolated cabin; the last thing he wanted was for someone to hear the commotion and interrupt.

"I save the galaxy," she said, "and I get called a liar. I save the Council and they call me a terrorist. I save Ash and she calls me a traitor." Her fists were knotted. Her voice grew more and more strident. "I open my legs to keep Liara alive and she calls me a whore."

She whirled on Solvitis. "What you and I did - it wasn't even my fault. I had to. And she punishes me for it. And you know what?" Her eyes met his. Her voice was calmer now, more ominous. "I told her it was lousy. I lied. In fact, it wasn't half bad."

Again, as if to dismiss her own words, she resumed pacing. "I never even asked her about Feron. Even though she wouldn't shut up about him. I understood. I was gone for two years. Even though it's never felt that way to me. Yes, I was jealous, but I figured it was her business."

She folded her arms. "So now we come to my scarlet letter moment," she said, "a night with Garrus Vakarian. It seems so important next to - " she waved her arms - "all this, doesn't it? I mean, my sexual history now includes a yahg and a varren. That'll look great on my iPartner profile. Love me, love my scale itch."

"Shepard - "

"So. Garrus. I ran into him on Omega. I never even had to ask him to come with me. I knew he would, the same way I know I'm right-handed. Of course, I thought - " she made quote marks in the air - "I knew the same thing about Ash. And Wrex. And Liara. But he was the only one. Garrus, who stood up for me on Horizon. Garrus, who followed me into hell without one word."

She looked at him. "When we went into the Collector base I was terrified. I still have nightmares. I keep seeing Tali incinerated in that ventilation shaft. I keep seeing Kelly in that pod, and I can't get it open, and I watch her liquefy. I keep seeing Chakwas and the crew ambushed on the way back to the ship. And the seeker swarms - " Her voice broke; she squeezed her eyes shut and hugged herself and rocked slightly.

"Breathe," he said gently. His voice sounded far away. He supposed he had known that this woman had faced horrors far worse than the Broker's captivity, but he hadn't given it much thought. He chided himself for his lack of caution. 

She nodded and took a couple of long slow breaths and steadied herself. She looked up. "And I couldn't tell anyone how afraid I was, even him. I wanted him to tell me it was going to be all right, but I couldn't ask. But somehow he knew. He kept calling me to report his progress. More than he had to. And he was so calm - " her hands made an unconscious gesture as if she were smoothing something out - "I couldn't help but start to feel calm too. That was when I thought, for the first time: okay, we can do this."

She sat down on the bed again, looking exhausted and defeated.

"I tried to explain about him. And about you and me. But she just wouldn't let it go. And right then..." her face twisted as if in pain. "I hated her for it."

She put her face in her hands.

"Everyone has bad moments," he said. "They don't mean a thing."

Her voice was muffled. "She thinks I'm a selfish cheating slut. And maybe she's right. What else am I doing here?"

"She doesn't think that. If she does, she's wrong."

"Yeah?" She looked up at him. "How would you feel if I cheated on you? If we were together, I mean."

"Hurt," he said. She looked down. He said, "But I hope I'd also try to understand. A relationship with you would be worth trying to hold on to."

"It's just...I begged her to come with me. I died and came back and my whole life was fucked up. I woke up alone in that bed every morning. I had no one. And then I thought I was going off to die. Again. But she was too busy for me. With her goddamn vendetta."

"You don't have to justify yourself."

"And I helped all those people. Miranda with her sister. Samara with her daughter. Jacob with his father. Thane with his son. But no one ever asked me what I needed. No one ever..." Her head was bowed, her shoulders drawn in, her hands closed into white-knucked fists.

He held his hands out to her. She looked at them for a moment and then took them in hers and squeezed hard. She had bitten her lower lip to keep from crying; he saw a pinprick of blood. 

"Let it out," he said.

"I don't want to," she said stubbornly. "I haven't since I've been here. But it's so hard..." Her voice was breaking up.

He let go of her hands and put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. She buried her face in his shoulder and held him and wept. Again he was struck by how warm and soft she was, just as he had been earlier that day. Her sobs shook both of them; sounds of pain came from her that were almost howls, broken only by ragged shuddering gasps for breath. He ran his fingers lightly down her back, again and again, as if she were a child.

"I hate this fucking place," she said at one point. "All of you. I hate you."

"I know," he said. He knew not to take that personally.

"Sometimes I wish I'd never heard of her," she said. "Then I wouldn't be here. And I hate myself for thinking that."

He held her tight.

It took a while. Eventually her tears slowed and stopped and she rested her head on his shoulder as if it were a pillow. She was spent. He kept stroking her back.

She let out a deep, ragged sigh. "Thank you," she said, sniffling, her voice still clogged, but sounding much better.

He took her shoulders and held her away from him slightly. He reached a hand up to her face and gently brushed the last of her tears away and then ran his fingers through her still-damp red hair. She closed her eyes and her lips curved in a tiny smile.

"I like your fringe," he said.

"We call it hair," she said, her voice placid, almost dreamy.

"It's so...vivid," he said. "I've never seen this color on a human before."

"It's not common," she agreed. She had always been a little vain about her fiery hair, and she never tired of compliments on it.

"It's pretty. And soft," he said, as he ran his fingers through her hair again. She made a small sound in her throat, one of pleasure, he thought. "You can feel that?" he said.

She nodded slightly, her eyes still closed. "Not in my hair. Just underneath."

He did it again but this time he extended his talons a little and traced them over her scalp and down the back of her neck, damning the collar that was in his way. She shuddered with pleasure and her lips parted slightly.

"I always wanted to do this," he said. "I wanted to do it earlier, but it seemed like too much."

"It's not too much," she said. "It's nice."

He took her face in his hands and traced his thumbs over her eyebrows. They were as soft as her hair. He brought his face to hers and kissed her. She accepted the kiss, though she didn't respond. He could feel her breath tickling his face. Afterward, her green eyes opened and watched him seriously.

She realized this was the first time any of these men had kissed her. She said, "You can't possibly think I'm pretty right now."

It was true that her face was pale and stained with the tracks of tears and her eyes were reddened and swollen. On the other hand, he had a thing for women in tears. It had taken plenty of self-control to keep from revealing his arousal to her. She wore no make-up, of course, but she hardly needed any; her lips were rose pink and her skin was clear.

He ran his hand through her hair once more and then turned and picked up his datapad from his desk and handed it to her.

"What's this for?" she said.

"Press that," he said, pointing to a green circle with a triangle inside that pointed right. She pressed it, and the sound of music played by a big band from mid-twentieth century Earth issued from it. Then Natalie Cole's voice began singing,

"It's only a paper moon,  
Sailing over a cardboard sea..."

She stared, and then slowly smiled - a beautiful sunny smile from her full lips, surely the first since she'd been captured - and blushed. "How did you know..."

"You were singing it in the shower."

"Oh. Yeah. I didn't even realize I was doing it. I have my own shower on the Normandy and I can really let go in there. EDI teases me about it sometimes." Her smile slipped a little, but she seemed determined to stay in her good mood. Since being captured, listening to music was about the last thing on her mind, but now it felt like a decadent luxury. She sang along,

"It's only a canvas sky,  
Hanging over a muslin tree..."

She gave him a mischievous smile. "You know where I first heard this?"

He grinned. "Must have been a date with handsome turian."

"That's right. We went dancing." She stood up and held her hands out to him. He let her pull him upright. It was easy to forget how strong she was.

She held up her right hand, palm out. He put his left hand against it and she interlaced her fingers with his. She took his right hand and put it on the small of her back, then she put hers on his right shoulder.

"He had to drag me out onto that dance floor," she said. "It's much better without all those people around."

"You'll have to teach me the steps."

"Sure. So this one is a fox trot. It goes - " she waited for the music to catch up - "slow, slow, quick quick. And we walk in time to that. I always start on my right foot because - " she grinned - "I'm always right. You step forward with your left foot - slow - then with your right foot - slow - then you step to the left with your left foot - quick - and then follow it with your right - quick."

Both of them missed quite a few steps, and trod on each other's feet, but they soon got the hang of it. The song ended and Shepard took the datapad and tapped in another one. As they danced, she sang,

"Riding on the City of New Orleans,  
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail,  
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,  
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail..."

She danced better than she sang, but her enthusiasm made her radiant. "My dad liked that one when I was a kid," she said. "He used to say railroads were about the same things as space travel. Exploration. Freedom." Her expression was wistful.

Then she played "Margaritaville" and said, "This one's a rhumba. It's a little slower. And - " she smiled - "we get to dance a little closer."

"I like it already."

The rhumba was better suited to his small cabin, and to their own rhythm. Between songs, he said, "I just remembered something." He opened one of the storage crates and took out an emergency candle and set it on his desk and lit it and turned out the lights.

"Perfect," she said, her face bathed in the soft flickering glow. "Here's another rhumba."

That one ended with her resting her head on his shoulder again, which made it hard to dance, but felt good. "One more, okay?" she said.

"As many as you want," he said. "I'm enjoying myself."

"Don't go tryin' some new fashion  
Don't change the color of your hair..."

He chuckled and ran his fingers through her hair again and she smiled and held him tighter.

"I don't want clever conversation,  
I never want to work that hard.  
I just want someone that I can talk to,  
I want you just the way you are..."

*

"There's another reason I came here tonight," she said. "Maybe the biggest." She was sitting on the bed again, he in the chair. The long shirt had ridden up her thighs a bit, but she didn't seem to care. Her knees were pointed at him now, and her thighs had drifted slightly apart, though not quite enough to let him see anything.

"Tell me," he said.

"I couldn't sleep. I had a dream..." she looked down.

"The mess hall?"

She looked up. "How did you know?"

He allowed a slight tremor into his voice. "I can't get it out of my mind either."

She closed her eyes and let out her breath. 

"I came, you know," she said.

He nodded. "I felt it. That was what made me..."

She grinned. "I figured. It was a small one. I managed to keep it to myself. Well, just between us, anyway."

"That's what this is. Just between us."

"Yeah." She looked down. "I guess I just have a weakness for handsome renegade turians who can dance."

"Tell me about the dream," he said. "Every detail. I want to see it the way you saw it."

She did. As she talked, her right hand slipped down between her thighs, eased under the long shirt, and began gently stroking her slit; soon the tips of her fingers were damp.

"It was more than that, though," she said. "We did..." She sighed and a tiny smile tugged at one side of her mouth. "Everything." The longing in her voice was plain.

"What was your favorite?"

She looked down, and realized she was rubbing herself - she hadn't even thought about it - but she realized she had no reason to stop, and she didn't want to stop. So she didn't. "You went down on me," she said, blushing. Her fingers moved a little faster. "Usually that's not my favorite, but the way I dreamed it...it was."

"I'd like to," he said. "Very much."

"You don't mind?" she said.

He turned her face to his and kissed her again. He felt her smile and this time her mouth opened a bit. In truth he didn't relish the idea, but Henneman had screened them all. And tonight, whatever Shepard asked for, she got.

He loved that she was giving herself to him willingly, not because of the drugs, but out of jealousy and anger and need for reassurance. He was going to give her the time of her life. Sooner or later, she and the blue bitch would have another fight, and Shepard would throw what happened tonight in T'Soni's face. He wanted her to have something to remember.

"This isn't just about sex," he said. "It's about comfort. Healing."

Her voice was troubled. "Is it about love?"

If I say yes, he thought, she might decide she's cheating emotionally as well as physically, and she doesn't want that. "Would that be so bad?"

"Maybe not," she said. She moved her face in for another kiss. As she had in the mess hall, she reached up and took hold of his fringe with both hands, and this time she tilted her face to one side and opened her mouth.

Non-turian women tended to be cautious about touching his fringe, as if it were fragile, but she had experience and her grip was firm. It felt good. His arms closed around her and he put a hand on the back of her neck to press her mouth to his and she moaned. She pressed her warm wet tongue into his mouth, careful to avoid his sharp teeth. He had never kissed a human woman like this before; her tongue was smoother than an asari's and softer than a turian's.

They kissed for a long time. Their shadows, joined together, danced on the bulkhead behind the bed as the candlelight flickered. The silence was broken only by Shepard's quiet moans. Once, she cut her tongue on one of his teeth, and he had the fleeting taste of copper in his mouth. 

When they stopped, her hand was still between her thighs, though she had stopped rubbing herself as she focused on the kissing. He took her wrist and lifted her hand to his mouth and tasted the wet tips of her fingers and looked into her eyes.

She swallowed and nodded. She reached down with her wrists crossed and took hold of the bottom of her shirt and started to lift, then stopped. "I don't want to take this off," she said.

"Then don't," he said.

She eased the bottom of the shirt up to her waist and lay back on the bed and rested her thighs on his shoulders and her heels on his back. She saw the pillow to her left and pulled it under her head. He lowered his face between her thighs and used his fingers to ease apart her vaginal lips, careful not to scratch her.

Shepard had once read that turians had different kinds of tongues, inherited from their distant ancestors. Garrus's tongue was long and sharp, suggesting he was descended from predators. Other turians, however, were descended from nectar-eaters; their tongues were slightly fuzzy, like paintbrushes. Solvitis, she realized at once, must be one of these.

He felt the way she tensed as he began licking her. He had never gone down on a human woman before - Shepard was giving him all kinds of first experiences. He stopped and said, "Are you - "

She didn't let him finish. "Yes. Keep going. Please."

He did. Like an asari's, her outer lips were the same color as the rest of her skin, but her inner lips were darker, like her mouth. He liked going down on asari too, because he enjoyed hearing them squeal. Shepard was not disappointing him in that department either. She was squirming, but he kept his tongue on her clit as if it had been fastened there. He wondered if the blue bitch had done this for Shepard lately. He licked harder, and she cried out.

If the guys saw him doing this, they would rag him without mercy. But for Solvitis it was delicious to hear and feel Anna Shepard moaning for him as her lithe body twisted under the attentions of his tongue.

She was used to giving the orders, but now he was taking away her control of herself. In her former life she wore a uniform and was an unapproachable figure of authority. Now she was half-naked, wearing one of his old shirts, her body flushed and damp with sweat, surrendering herself to the sensations he was giving her. Heroine of the Blitz, Captain of the Normandy, none of it meant anything now. Under the mythic facade, she was a woman with the same basic wants and needs as any other. He was on the inside, seeing her as she truly was; for him, this was the supreme wonder, even more than the sensual delights offered by her body.

"Oh," she whimpered, as his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. Her hands took thick fistfuls of the rough blanket underneath her. Her thick strong thighs squeezed his neck and her heels dug into his back. Her hands let go of the blanket and leapt to his head and took hold of his fringe.

She held his head firmly in place and arched her back, grinding her pelvis into his face. Her head tilted back, exposing her throat; her neck was flushed, the veins standing out under her skin. Her eyes were closed, with a slight crease between her reddish eyebrows; her mouth was open, her lips drawn back from her teeth, her breathing quick. "God - I'm gonna - I'm - "

Her clit was fully exposed now and he licked it hard, from the back of his tongue to the front. She came, loudly, wetly, and long, her climax seeming to wash over her in a series of shuddering waves.

Her body was half curled around his head; slowly it unfolded until she lay back on the bed, spreadeagled, her body utterly open to him, trusting completely. She was soaked with sweat, spent, happy. "God," she said in a shaky voice, still trembling as she aftershocks swept through her.

Solvitis didn't know whether the intensity of her orgasm was due to her emotional release or to the drug, and right now he didn't care; it had been quite a ride. He kissed the inside of her thigh. "Good?"

She smiled. "Wonderful," she said, her face and voice a little dazed. Any guilt about what she was doing had been swept away. She needed this.


End file.
